


Pharazinzil

by AsgardianAngels



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Mairon worshipping and being worshipped in his temple, Númenor, aka the Numenorgy, implied angbang, thinly-veiled mature content but not written explicitly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 07:26:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13185210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsgardianAngels/pseuds/AsgardianAngels
Summary: Short drabble about Tar-Mairon in the waning years of Númenor, when the dark nights closed in and all that glittered was gold.





	Pharazinzil

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I write the things I write. I blame Mairon, that discount trash hoe. 
> 
> Yes, he absolutely does have giant gold naked statues of Melkor in his temple. He saw to it that they were made... proportionate.
> 
>  
> 
> Come visit me on my tumblr, asgardian--angels!
> 
> (Also, apologies that I have to add some sad bit about Mairon missing his husband into everything I write. It's a problem.)

The flock of acolytes descended the dark halls, lit only by brazier, and entered the heart of the temple to which few but the most loyal had admittance. Surrounded they were by great statues, in visage of he whom they worshipped, standing in cold witness of their deeds.There, from the shadows the high priest came before them, neck adorned in jewels and chains of gold set low on his waist, with dust of gold and crimson iron upon his fair face, but naught else. He bid them remove their robes, and they did, in anticipation of that annual holy rite which was performed now in the blackened age of their once-proud civilization. They drank in the sight of him, feeling yet unworthy of his magnificence, for the light of creation still shone from him and left them transfixed. Silence hung thick in the incense-laden air as it begged to be broken. 

And thus it was commenced.  Allowed they were to approach, and in eager show of faith did they offer him caress, and he welcomed their lustful embrace as one gone long without. Time was forsaken, and wills were bent only towards their desire to experience and to appease. His name like honey fell from their lips in praise, proclaiming him oracle, and unto him they found release, till all of mortal flesh were spent and skin was canvas painted in passion. He rose glistening from the polished stone where he lay, and with unearthly grace stepped forth to greet the ineffable looming presence he so sought to impress.

There stood in golden splendour the likeness of that fell lord, he who did now dwell in the eternal night without, and he appeared in his true magnificence, bared in fullness before them as a serpent which reared its great gilded head. In hand did the priest take it, palm made slick by those who hath came before him. Faintly tarnished was its surface after many such an offering over the long years, and it now dripped once more with their sacrifice. Not blood, yet life still. The future was more costly given than the present. 

Unto it he did lower himself, uttering words of prayer.

‘I call upon thee, king of all, to lead us as ye have before, to glory and everlasting life!’

There came then a resounding call by the devoted, which echoed in that vast chamber: ‘Lead us!’  

And with the fervent desperation of one upon the edge of enlightenment, the priest did say under his own shuddering breath, ‘Come back to me.’

‘Twas on that sacred seat did he relinquish himself wholly, crying out the name of his dark master, and his disciples knelt poised beneath him in sublime reverence, rejoiced to receive the holy rain upon their faces. In the sudden swell of the crackling firelight, it did seem as if that divine spirit himself were channeled through this vessel, proffering promise of fertile ends to all their endeavors.

Forgotten was the Meneltarma in favor of this ritual for their new god, and the eagles which did dwell upon that shrine awaited no longer the coming of those who would pay due tribute. On somber wings they departed from that hallowed place, their eyrie of old, and made swiftly for the snow-capped peak which lay beyond the eyes of Men in the uttermost west. 

‘Númenor is lost,’ they lamented upon their master’s arm. ‘They cherish their gift no more.’

And he who sat perched with keen sight in halls high above clouds now lowered his head and wept.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Alternate ending:
> 
> ‘Númenor is lost,’ they lamented upon their master’s arm. ‘They cherish their gift no more.’  
> And he who sat perched with keen sight in halls high above clouds now lowered his head and wept, ‘That maia is fucking a statue of my brother.’


End file.
